Five Times Sherlock Solved the Case
by SparxFlame
Summary: ...and the one time John beat him to it. A series of deductions by the great detective. T for descriptions of death/murder.
1. Shot

**A/N: For an anon on tumblr who requested 'five times Sherlock solved the case and the one time John beat him to it.' Was an absolute nightmare to write because of all the deductions, but I'm fairly pleased with how it turned out. I wanted to see if I could write a story using only dialogue - do tell me if you think I succeeded! The chapters will be pretty short, maybe around 400 words each, but I'll update two, three times a week so you won't be waiting long for the whole thing. Anyway, enjoy, and reviews make me smile. :)**

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"What's this?"

"Case file. From Lestrade, he wanted me to give it to you."

"Why? It says already solved. Unless he thinks there's something wrong, which there probably is, knowing Scotland Yard."

"I think it's his way of gloating, Sherlock. You've solved the past five cases he's got before he's even got samples back from forensics. He wants to prove he can solve something on his own."

"Well, he's wrong."

"Oh, for god's sake, Sherlock, can't you just-"

"No, he's _actually_ wrong. They've got it down as suicide, and it wasn't. It was murder."

"Really? Or is this just you sulking because the police managed to do something right for a change?"

"Really. The man had no history of mental instability or depression, no visits to a psychiatrist. In terms of mental health, he's almost perfect."

"Sherlock, the man had just been fired from his job and accused of fraud! That can make people a little unstable."

"And fraud can make enemies – specifically, the people he defrauded, a pair of wealthy clients. Noveau riche. Not particularly known for their morals or forgiveness, generally regarded as ruthless business partners."

"That's not a basis to say he was murdered! There was an eyewitness that saw him buying the gun that killed him – and the wound's on the right side of the head for the hand he used. Lestrade says here he specifically checked, see?"

"Yes, he bought the gun – but as self defence. The footprint in the lounge is a size too big for his shoes, and look at the rest of that flat, spotless. He'd never have worn muddied shoes on the carpet, and he'd never have killed himself in a way that would have made a mess. He was neat, obsessively so, a perfectionist, it showed in his work."

"Still not a basis for being murdered."

"But you admit it sounds suspicious."

"Yes, but- it's all very well _you_ saying it, but the police can't start an investigation based on a footprint and a personality trait!"

"What about the faint bruising around his mouth?"

"What?"

"Coroner wrote it off as post-death swelling and bursting of the blood vessels, but it's in the shape of fingers, you can see that mark there, the heel of a palm pressing against his cheek. The killer used chloroform. Probably followed him home, waited until he'd unlocked the door so forced entry wouldn't be needed, and then gave him a light enough dose that he'd be drowsy but nothing would show up on any toxicity scans. Then he took the gun the man had bought in an attempt to defend himself, and used it to kill him. Made it look like a suicide. Wouldn't have been too hard, as Lestrade has proven."

"...Okay. Okay, I admit, that's- you were right."

"I always am. Call Lestrade and tell him he was wrong, and to stop gloating. Or, rather, continue, because his attempts at superiority have potentially saved other people's lives."

"You call him, then, if you're so pleased with yourself."

"Shan't."

"Sha- what are you, _five_?"

"..."

" Oh, fine, for god's sake, I'll call him then."


	2. Gas Leak

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! It's coming up to finals time, so I'm a bit rushed off my feet with homework and I forgot to update this. =.= More updates should be more regular!**

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"Have you seen the papers this morning?"

"No. Why, should I have?"

"New case in there, thought it'd have been right up your street. Israeli embassy's been bombed, seven dead, maybe twenty in hospital. No one knows who did it, none of the usual suspects have come forward to take credit. Police are baffled."

"The police are always baffled. And it wasn't a bombing."

"Um, no, definitely a bombing. There was a big explosion mid-afternoon, right when there'd be the most people in there, and there's all that political stuff going on at the moment, you know-"

"If it were a bombing, they would have waited. Yom Ha'atzumaut, Israeli independence day, is in just under a month, that would have been the day to do it, if it were a political statement. Or maybe the day before, but a couple of weeks before? There's no significance, it makes no sense, especially since no one's come to claim credit for it."

"Oh, come on, that's ridiculous, you can't-"

"Coupled with the fact that the street next to the embassy has been undergoing street repairs due to the new gas pipes being laid down because several houses along there have been complained of odd smells and gas leaks for the past few months, I'd say it seems fairly conclusive. Faulty gas pipes in the area; it was an accident waiting to happen. The building's large enough that if the leak were concentrated in one room then no one would have smelled it."

"Surely the gas company would have known if there was a problem with the pipes? They'd have made the link, and..."

"You always want to see the best in people. Of course they're not going to admit a problem that killed people and blew up an embassy. Come _on_, John."

"...Fine, fine."

"Aren't you going to call Lestrade?"

"You do it. This wasn't even your case!"

"Shan't."

"...You- you're impossible."

"Call Lestrade."

"...Fine."


	3. Stabbed

**A/N: Tadah! New chapter. Thank you to everyone who reviewed last time, including the anons, you made me smile! I try to reply to everyone, but if your message slipped through the cracks then I'm sorry. Enjoy!**

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"Okay, then, how about this? Dave Robinson. White man in his mid-thirties, apparently in perfect health and he just dropped dead. No blood, no bruises, nothing. Just... dead. Found in his home in They've yet to do an autopsy, but he's in shape, so heart attack is unlikely, and there's no history of strokes in the family, but it could have been-"

"He was stabbed."

"Sorry... what? Sherlock, you've not even heard the rest of the report!"

"Really, are those forensic officers even qualified? There's a spot of dried blood on the inside of his collar. If you actually open your eyes and _look_, there's another spot just below his hairline roughly in line with the other. I suspect a small, very sharp blade or possibly a spike, driven in with a large amount of force. The lack of blood is probably because the blade was either driven all the way in or snapped off, so it's still embedded in the skull. He would have haemorrhaged internally and bled to death."

"How... the report says they think he threw up, but that's not enough-"

"Who are you going to believe, me or Lestrade?"

"...No comment. Anyways, who would have a motive? No debt, not married, wasn't involved in gambling or drugs or-"

"Describe his family."

"Um, no wife or kids, like I said, not even a serious girlfriend. Dad's dead, mum's in a hospice somewhere with advanced stage breast cancer, a younger sister, owns a cat and a couple of tropical fish, he's basically the most average-"

"Were they rich?"

"Were _who_ rich?"

"Oh, don't be obvious, the family, of course. His mother. No father alive, apparently no important relatives on the mother's side otherwise the report would have mentioned them – although I suppose that could be shoddy work on Scotland Yard's behalf – no older siblings... Was his mother rich?"

"You mean you think someone murdered him for his inheritance?"

"Not someone. His sister."

"His-"

"Yes."

"But she's his-"

"_Were they rich?_"

"Okay, okay, give me a minute, I'm trying to find- oh, jesus. Yeah, the mother was rich. Mr. Robertson senior owned a private taxi service that went national, and when he died neither of the siblings wanted it so it got sold. Made enough off of it to keep her in very comfortable retirement for the next forty years."

"There you are, then."

"But- his _sister,_ are you sure?"

"..."

"Fine. I'll call Lestrade and tell him to interrogate the sister."


	4. Heart Attack

**A/N: Tadah! New chapter. Thank you to everyone who reviewed last time, including the anons, you made me smile! I try to reply to everyone, but if your message slipped through the cracks then I'm sorry. Enjoy!**

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"Woman, suspected to be in her late forties – no positive ID yet – was found collapsed in an alleyway in Whitechapel at eleven last night. She didn't have her wallet on her, and there was bruising around her neck, so police suspect a mugging, except-"

"From the look of her, the bruising's in the wrong place and nowhere near dark enough after nearly twenty-four hours for her to have been strangled to death."

"And there's no bluish colour around her mouth or nose, yes. So, that leaves-"

"Heart attack."

"...You can't possibly know that without blood tests, they've not come back yet."

"Of course I can. Found dead down an alley in an area that houses at least one private club for those with sexual tastes leaning towards sadomasochism-"

"Do I even want to know _how_ you-"

"-which explains the bruising around her throat, her partner probably got a little too carried away. Then there's the wrinkles around her mouth, the small burn on her sleeve, the slight yellowing of her teeth – she was a smoker, most likely. Reddened cheeks and nose, not because of the cold, you can see the broken blood vessels even in this low quality photograph. She looks unusually skinny for someone in their late forties, too, so heavy drinker, possibly alcoholic."

"And this helps us how?"

"Because there's nothing else. There's no motivation. Visits to a club indicate she doesn't have a steady sexual or romantic partner, lack of stab wounds mean she wasn't mugged, and what would any family members stand to gain from killing her? She's an alcoholic smoker, and look at the state of her clothes, they're old, so she doesn't have any money. There's no reason for anyone to want to kill her, and the alcoholism and smoking mean she's a prime candidate for heart attacks, especially considering her age."

"And you got all of that from looking at a photograph of her."

"Yes. Do you doubt me?"

"When do I ever question... forget it. I'll text Lestrade."


	5. Overdose

**A/N: Second-to-last chapter! Thanks for the reviews and taking the time to read this...**

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"Finally decided to grace us with your actual presence on a crime scene, huh?"

"Yes. I couldn't decipher it from the fractured, useless notes John was sending me, so I decided to come down and see for myself. What exactly is the problem?"

"Well, we've got an Asian male, late teens or early twenties – no positive ID yet – killed by a gunshot wound to the head. Or, at least, we thought so, but the forensics tell us that there-"

"Isn't enough blood for him to have received the shot whilst he was alive, so he was probably shot after he was dead. And you want me to work out what happened."

"Er, yes. If it's not too far beneath you."

"He died of an overdose."

"Drugs?"

"No, of stupidity. Yes, of course drugs. The signs are clear enough, the track marks on the arm look fairly fresh, wouldn't you say? He's a dealer, low level, or a delivery boy. Some associates of mine have reported seeing him around quite a lot."

"...Associates?"

"Since when has my personal life been a matter for your concern?"

"Since you started having _associates_ who keep track of dealers in the area. Anyway, we'll wait for the bloods to come back, that should confirm the presence of drugs, but why shoot him if he was already dead of an overdose?"

"Like I said, low-level dealer and delivery boy. I'm guessing he was dipping his hand into the till, taking a bit of what he should have been delivering, finally took a bit too much and suffered the consequences. His supplier probably found him, decided to send a message to any other delivery boys who were planning on getting a little too bold."

"...I'll take your word for it. Any idea who he is, so we can tell the parents?"

"None at all, that's your problem now. John, call... oh."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Well, you're already here."

"...That'd explain why John's always the one who calls me, then."


	6. Cyanide

**A/N: And this is it! The end... Thank you to everyone who's followed and reviewed this, you've been wonderful. :3 Sorry it was just a short little thing, but it was only a five plus one. Longer Sherlock work will _possibly_ be coming soon-ish.**

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"Lestrade left a new file, you know. It's been sitting on your chair since this morning."

"Yeah, I read it."

"You didn't read it to me. Why not? You _always_ read the ridiculous things to me, no matter how stupidly easy they are."

"I didn't need to."

"Why? The police already solved it? That hardly seems likely."

"Cyanide."

"What?"

"It was cyanide. She had pulmonary edema, and died of cardiac arrest, in a _restaurant_. For no apparent reason. Which means probably poisoning, because it'd be easy to add to food. Pinkish tinge to her skin, which is common with cyanide poisoning, and the symptoms appeared after she had her after-dinner coffee, which would have masked the taste of the cyanide somewhat. Wouldn't have been a nice way to go, but it would have been very effective."

"..."

"What?"

"..."

"Oh. Right. I'm sorry for working something out before the great Sherlock Holmes for once."

"You haven't 'worked things out', you still don't know what the motive is, or who did it-"

"Well, if she was having dinner with her ex-husband, who wanted to try and get back together with her, and she said no and then died from poisoned coffee... I'm saying the ex-husband's got a pretty good motive and is a fairly solid suspect."

"..."

"God, you're a sore loser, aren't you?"

"Shut up."

"...You know, if I solved it, you have to text Lestrade, right? ...Oh, fine, fine, I'll do it. No need to sulk. Honestly. Consulting three-year-old, I tell you."


End file.
